Raiment of the Gods
by The Wayfaring Strangers
Summary: They say the clothes make the man - or the god. But sometimes, they do the most for his friends. (Or, a tale of all the times someone wore Thor's clothes and the adventures necessitating such a development.) Four: Natasha and the Hauberk. Being trapped under a collapsed building together was not a situation either one of them wanted to be in. The blood everywhere wasn't helping...
1. Cloak

_**i.**_

Three arrows left.

Clint went for a grim and mirthless laugh and let out a hysterical giggle. It had to be ninja robots. Not just robots. Not just ninjas. _Ninja robots. _

'Barton...' Cap's exasperated voice sounded in his ear.

'...Did I say that out loud?'

Maybe forty-eight hours was too long to go without sleep. If they could just finish up mopping up the mess left by the latest-wannabe mad scientist, Clint would be more than happy to crash anywhere available. Unfortunately, that was taking longer than intended. The things just wouldn't die. The only way to kill them seemed to be wrenching their heads off or stabbing their faces. That, and electrocuting them. Though Thor had a monopoly on that one.

Though he had to question the utility of crafting deadly, glowing-eyed androids, programming them to exterminate humanity, and then bulking them down in layers of what could only be described as ninja costume, their laser guns, black knives, and grenades were wickedly affective. Hence the fact that the Avengers had been assembled to save Cleveland just hours after completing another mission. C'mon, it was _Cleveland_, for crying out loud! What kind of half-wit excuse for a villain would waste his time in the middle of Ohio?

'Tasha! On your right!' He barked, rubbing at gritty eyes and watching with satisfaction as his partner downed the metal monstrosity that had been trying to pull a fast one on her.

'Cap, behind you!' The star-spangled Avenger dispatched the android that had been creeping up on him with a muted cry.

From his rooftop perch, all the other Avengers looked like tiny toys, dealing death as they danced through the swarms of their opponents.

One arrow left. The archer cursed under his breath. At least the robo-ninjas hadn't seen who was raining down death from above. There seemed to be less than thirty of the things left now, and Iron Man's repulsors combined with the Hulk's brute power were slowly, but surely turning the tide. Maybe he could convince Cap to let them get shw-

A faint thrumming in the air was all the warning he got.

Then they were all over him: three of the androids swarmed him at once, climbing on his arms, weighing down his legs, reaching for his head. He cried out as one stabbed him in the thigh. Cursing, Clint rammed his last arrow into the eye of the droid trying to choke him. It went down with a sizzle. They were tall but spindly under their trappings, and it was fairly easy to overpower them once you got the hang of it.

Clint aimed a solid kick at the second and it went sailing over the roof's edge. If it didn't die -or whatever AI did – Hulk would probably make a plaything out of it. He got in the grim laugh this time as he set about checking his injured leg. At least the would was cauterized. A smell of burning flesh mingled with the scent of smoke and thunder in the air. His hands stung, scraped and lacerated from the fray. As Clint took a moment to catch his breath, he wearily eyed the bruises blooming all over his arms. This would hurt in the mor-

A black blade stuck out of his side.

The world spun lazily on its axis as he crashed to the concrete, cursing his exhaustion.

_Always watch for the last one, _Natasha's voice rang in his ears. How careless could he be?

Scrawny, iron arms bit into his back and he heard the dull whine of a plasma gun winding up. He swore again as blood ran everywhere.

'Hawkeye! What's your status? Do you need assist?' The Cap barked in his ear.

He tried to speak and choked on the blood in his mouth, coughing.

'Barton! Respond!' Steve sounded panicked. He'd better do something.

'I'm down,' Clint gasped, kicking at his assailant. His arms were caught fast behind him in its many limbs, but he managed to score a hit with his left boot.

_'Clint!' _That was Tasha.

He coughed again, and then the pain hit. Oceans and deserts and galaxies of white-hot fire crawled through his body. He jerked reflexively and the android fell from him with a whine. Clint rolled away, gasping and shuddering. He had no idea what the blade had hit or what was on it, but he was bleeding buckets and coughing up more. The concrete was stained crimson, specks of dust running sludgy in the dark tide. When he coughed, a mist of red hung in the air.

It hurt so bad he could barely breathe. He sucked in shallow pants that tasted metallic as black spots swam in his vision. It felt as though his lungs were collapsing. The robo-ninja charged and he laughed again, this time with a sickening squelch. This was how the famous Hawkeye would go down: shot and/or stabbed to death by a wanna-be supervillian's _robot ninja_ in the middle of north-eastern _Ohio. _

Then a sheet of lightning split the wind. A whirl of red and silver spiraled above him and the all-consuming crack of thunder swallowed the sky. He curled in on his wounded side, feeling the blood slip through his fingers over the hurt on his thigh. His eyes squeezed closed. And right when Clint thought his brain would explode, the sound ceased and a long shadow fell over him.

A scent of soldered metal hung in the quiet air.

'Easy, Barton,' Thor said, his large hands turning Clint over. The archer stuttered out a breath.

'I've got you.'

Thor unhinged his cloak from its shoulder-clasps and flung it over him, pressing the crimson cloth over his side. So much red, Clint thought, just like Nat's hair. In spite of all the blood on his hands, it was still his favorite color. Red reminded him of her. Her perfect eyes, her secret smile...

'Stay with me,' the Asgardian commanded, a frown settling over over his brows. 'Man of Iron, come quickly. Our comrade is hurt and the would is poisoned.'

Clint would never, ever get used to the sight of a Norse god pressing his finger to the comm in his ear like a seasoned field agent. That should have gotten another mirthless laugh, but it _hurt_ too much.

A side wound shouldn't hurt like that, something in his head told him. But his tongue was lined with wool, and his teeth chattered to hard to get it out. He was so dang cold.

'You're going into shock,' Thor told him, his voice deep and steady. The Asgardian curled his cloak tighter around Clint and that felt a little better.

He felt his head come to rest against the golden god's chest.

'You need to stay with me, Clint.' Thor kept his voice low and even as the archer drifted. He could feel a steady pressure against his side and a solid warmth on his back. The pain was dimming, too; he could breathe again. Everything was dimming.

Thor was talking to him, calling his name, urging him to wake, but the cloak was so warm...

_**. . .**_

Clint didn't hear Stark land beside them in a shower of sparks. He didn't feel himself being lifted into Iron Man's arms. He didn't see Steve and Natasha's worried eyes. He did get a death grip on Thor's cloak, though.

Thus it was that Clint Barton awoke eleven hours later to eight stitches in his side, two sets of dressings on his body, five vigilant Avengers fast asleep around him, and one scarlet cloak tucked around him like a godly cocoon.

This time, the laugh was neither grim nor mirthless.

* * *

><p><em>Well, what do you think of this hair-brained little thing? I had a lot of fun writing Clint and I'd love to hear your thoughts.<em>

_Next up: Jane and the Tunic._

_-RandomCelt_


	2. Tunic

_**ii.**_

Jane let out a ear-splitting yawn and rubbed at her eyes. Her forest of notebooks, print-outs, and coffee mugs still bearing the ghosts of their contents was looking wilder and wilder. _As am I_, the astrophysicist thought ruefully. She couldn't remember how many days it had been since she'd tried to scrub the exhaustion out of her face or even run a load of laundry. Jane was going on a science bender, and denial could only be wielded so skillfully. If it wasn't for Darcy stealth feeding her and dragging her away to crash occasionally, she probably would have collapsed into her research and never been found.

_Speak of the woman..._

Darcy herself rounded the doorway with a snarky comment that was lost on Jane's pre-occupied ears. After the unthinkable fall of S.H.I.E.L.D, seas of data had flooded the internet. If she were to be perfectly honest with herself, Jane was drowning. _Just a few mores pages. _ That's what she'd been telling herself for the last ... who knew how many hours. If she was perfectly honest with herself, it was just far easier than actually facing the downfall of Agent Coulson's men in black.

_'Jane!'_

Her head snapped up. Darcy sighed, her lips tugging down.

'This is Bad. Like, Pray to Odin for a Miracle Bad. You need to get a grip on your life and start acting like a semi-sane human being,' Darcy finished, giving her boss a look that was calculated to make small children and fluffy rabbits cry - or at least sniffle.

Jane looked down, playing with the frayed hem of her plaid shirt, days old and smelling of stale coffee. Her muscles kept up a tirade at her as she stretched. The sun was slowly falling into skyscrapers all around them. The day would soon be done.

'Maybe I should get some sleep,' the astrophysicist concluded.

'Sleep?' her intern spluttered, 'We have to be at Stark Tower in half an hour!'

_'What?'_

Jane's hands slammed down into her desk. The world spun. (Though that might have been the lack of sleep, food and even caffeine coming through.)

'When were you planning to tell me this?' she demanded.

'I just did!' Darcy exploded. 'Don't you remember? Apparently they need to talk strategy now that the Men in Black are all shooting at each other, but Tony Stark turned it into a meet-n-greet. And for some reason, we're supposed to be there – and by us, I mean you, but y'know, I'm coming too.'

Jane panicked. She's dreamed of meeting scientific legends like Tony Stark and Bruce Banner for a long time now, but not like this. Not dirty, greasy, and all but hungover with exhaustion. She already felt overwhelmed. Then something else clicked.

'Where's Thor?'

Darcy rolled her eyes. 'Already there. Apparently he wanted to fly,' she began tugging Jane up, steering her away from the morass of her work station. 'He kissed you on the head and said something sweet. You didn't even look up, but you did mumble something about particle data. Thor took it as a blessing and launched his ridiculously good-looking butt from the window.'

Jane shook her head, racking her brains for any such occurrence. 'But-'

'That was three hours ago. Now let's get you looking half-way decent.'

'I have no clean clothes, Darcy,' Jane grumbled, trying to head off the inevitable, 'and we've already established that yours don't fit me.'

Darcy gave her a push in the direction of the bathroom. 'Go. Shower. I'll figure something out.'

Ten minutes later, when Jane was drying off, a pale arm flung itself through the doorway and lobbed several articles of clothing at her face. She recognized Darcy's belt and a pair of her intern's tights, but the creamy pool of fabric at her feet was unfamiliar.

She scooped it up, calling, 'Darcy, what is this?' _Whose is this? _

She could almost hear her intern's shrug. 'It's one of Thor's shirt-tunic things.'

_'You raided Thor's closet?'_

'What else was I supposed to do? Use the belt and you'll look like some kind of Greek goddess,' Darcy flippantly declared.

Maybe this would work out, after all. The loosely woven cloth smelled like rain and summer sunlight. _Just like him._ She buried her face in it, wondering when she has grown so distracted.

_**. . . **_

Half an hour later, Thor greeted her with a kiss and a raised brow at her choice of attire. She just smiled sheepishly, muttering, 'Darcy's fault.'

He tucked her against his side, laughing deep and richly. The rumble echoed in her bones as they turned together to face his teammates.

* * *

><p><em>Here's the next chapter; if you have thoughts on it, don't hesitate to tell me. I'm writing this for you! :)<em>

_I apologize for the update lag. It shouldn't be as bad next time. Stay tuned for _Bruce and the Boot!_  
><em>

_-RandomCelt_


	3. Boot

_**iii.**_

'Rogers has clearly been reading too much Tolkien. Or watching-'

_'Tony...'_

'Though I assume reading, because, despite his quick assimilation of modern tech, he's definitely a technophobe at heart. That and PTSD. Epic battle scenes, y'know. Traumatic memories. Flashbacks.'

'So there's absolutely nothing wrong with bringing a live, albeit unconscious, spider_ that just happens to be four-foot high, vicious, and highly venomous _into _my_ lab for me,_ the man with breathtaking anger issues,_ to study_,_'Bruce's voice edged into hysterical territory as it picked up speed and strength. 'Nope, nothing at all!' As an afterthought, he added, 'Rogers is a smart man, Tony, and he's been through a lot.'

'Well, we need somewhere to put it. And this is my tower. Don't be difficult, Brucie,' Stark admonished. 'And since when is it your lab?'

Bruce's mouth hung open in horror. 'You brought one into the Tower? Tony, that's recklessly endangering your friends and employees! What about Pepper? And – and,' he stammered, 'you gave it to me!'

Tony shuffled slightly, the harsh lab lights picking out the tiny gleam of guilt in his eye.

'...Well, the sooner you stop overreacting and see reason, the sooner Thor can bring it down here and stick in the cage. It's only gonna stay unconscious for so long,' he recovered glibly.

Taking Bruce's shocked silence as an affirmative, the inventor nodded briskly and breezed away to oversee preparations.

The door slamming behind him sounded oddly like a death-knell.

A few minutes later, the scientist let out a long-suffering sigh, rubbing his nose. He checked the holding cage for what seemed like the millionth time.

Just because the Hulk had been deemed too sledge-hammer-like to participate in the latest shenanigans didn't mean Bruce felt left out. Honestly, the Enchantress (or whatever she was called) could leave her overgrown arachnoid monstrosities somewhere else, for all he cared. Thor had had the good grace to apologize for her vendetta a million times. They all told him to get over it, and at last he settled for looking like a rainy Monday morning and fighting like a man (god?) possessed. It was a strange combination, Bruce had to admit.

But more strange was the sight of said Asgardian tramping out of the elevator with a huge, hairy, gangly spider in his arms and a bleeding gash over his eyebrow.

...and a pair of extremely muddy boots. Bruce sighed internally. He was going to have to mop up all that goo, as well as practice his spider-sitting.

'Thor! Take your boots off! Do want to track mud all over the lab?' Jane Foster's voice might have been a little shrill and hoarse, but it sounded like melted honey to him. Thor let out a repentant grunt and toed off the offending footwear by the door. At least only the entryway was muddy, Bruce thought.

Thank Heaven for small mercies.

Thor gave him a strange little half-bow and ducked out of the lab with a half-apologetic smile. Jane trailed after him, laying a hand on his broad shoulder.

Behind Bruce, there sounded a noise that would have been a snort, had it been any more belligerent and any less diplomatic. As it was, Captain America settled for a resigned and disappointed sigh, the kind that made you feel like the world's biggest failure. He somehow knew that near-ire was directed elsewhere, and that made him fear for Stark and for the general peace of the Tower.

If he was perfectly honest with himself (and he rarely was; it was just too painful), Bruce admired Rogers' control.

'Dr. Banner, you comfortable with this?' Steve didn't waste any time with pleasantries, but the lines of his face were open and concerned.

'Yeah, well... It's fine,' Bruce mumbled, shuffling toward the familiar safety of his workbench, cursing his ineloquence.

As he sat down with a comforting bump, Rogers strode over to the holding cage and its comatose occupant.

'Think this thing'll hold?' he asked, tapping on the re-enforced bars experimentally.

Bruce nodded distractedly. 'Tony ran some calculations and based on what he's seen, he thinks it's strong enough.'

'Right,' Rogers nodded, 'If you need any help, have JARVIS call me or Thor. If you'll excuse me, there's a heck of a lot of cleanup waiting.'

Bruce nodded again and Steve shot him an apologetic smile over his shoulder. The door hissed closed and silence descended. The physicist breathed an imperceptible sigh of relief. As much as he enjoyed the company of his fellow Avengers and their honest acceptance and support, he was an introvert at heart. Quiet was his best friend.

_**. . .**_

In retrospect, he should've known that trusting his volatile self alone in a room with a giant, vicious, man-eating spider was a bad idea. But then again, his level of expertise was always given to a certain shade of arrogance.

It happened like this.

Bruce had just finished processing the first set of data his scanners had collected on the spider and he was just starting to think about skin and blood samples. It didn't appear to be, as Tony had thought, an engorged version of a terrestrial spider. Bruce's guess as to what it actually was –

_Rustle. Clickity Click. _

_SNAP! _

He froze, an icy trickle creeping down his neck. A dry shuffling noise sounded behind him as he glimpsed a nightmare reflection in his dormant laptop: the tangle of spindly legs heaved its twitching bulk through burst bars and raced toward him.

Bruce didn't think. There was no time to become angry. He just heaved through the waves of his fear and _did. _

The weapon nearest his grasp was made of finely tooled leather, caked in mud, and a lot heavier than it looked. Bruce didn't notice. It was a matter not of anger battling control, but of courage mastering fear. He just snatched Thor's boot and started walloping for all he was worth.

The first swing bashed in the long forelegs reaching for him. The arachnid hissed in shock and faltered for a moment. Bruce didn't, getting in a solid thwack on the many-eyed head, just above the dripping mandibles. This time it staggered toward him, clicking madly while green slime oozed from its eyes.

The astrophysicist let out a peevish rattle and kicked his chair at the advancing monstrosity. As spinning wheels tangled with grappling legs, Bruce charged forward and brought down all his weight on its head.

The arachnid convulsed for a few moments, then went mercifully still.

When Iron Man and Captain America came tearing in, they found Bruce Banner standing over a pile of hairy and unresponsive legs, Thor's muddy and slime-enfolded boot clutched in his white knuckles.

And Thor himself stood in the doorway, laughing as though his long sorrow had fallen away like snow in the spring.

'That was well struck, Banner,' he announced, striding over clap the scientist on the back and retrieve his footwear. 'We'll make a warrior of you yet!'

Steve let out another long-suffering sigh and fixed the flustering Stark with a Look. 'Tolkien knows more than you give him credit for, Tony.'

* * *

><p><em> I don't even know why I wrote that and I'm not sure what part of me thought it was a good idea. Thank you all so much for reading, revewing, and generally putting up with my craziness. What are your thoughts on the latest installment?<br>_

_Next will be _Natasha and the Hauberk. _(Maille shirt.) Hang on; things are gonna get dark...-RandomCelt_


	4. Hauberk

_**iv.**_

Thor groaned through his teeth, straining against the weight of falling stone. Natasha screamed beneath him. When the rush of noise and motion left them in merciful silence, he felt as if the sky had shattered, leaving him trapped in darkness and rubble.

The seconds slipped away as he fought for breath, holding up the weight of the world while its ruin echoed above him. When his ears stopped ringing and the dust began to fall, everything ached, but a dull fire burned his left leg. He tried to shift himself, but he could only raise his chest a few feet before a slab of masonry pinioned his back. A grey chink of light showed ahead, though. He supposed, in a vague sort of way, that they were lucky it was only a two-story store front that HYDRA's minions had brought down on them.

'Thor?' Natasha croaked, squirming in his sheltering embrace.

'Aye?' He answered, slithering off as best he could.

'Did they just bring a building down on us?'

'Aye.'

'Stop saying that,' she groaned, 'I'm calling help.'

As Natasha barked into her communicator, the one in his ear guttered and died. No help from that quarter, then. They were on their own until Stark's scanners picked them up – if any knew they were trapped.

The assassin swore in Russian (presumably), and kicked a chunk of stone.

'We're on our own.'

'Aye.'

_'Thor, I'm warning you.' _

Rubbing dust out of his eyes, he bit back a chuckle. Somewhere along the way, his monosyllabic responses might have become a wee bit intentional. The grin dropped from his face as he tried to squirm toward the light.

'What is it?' Her eyes glinted in the light, oddly shining and full of something he couldn't name.

'My leg -' He broke off with a grunt, trying to square his shoulders, 'my leg is quite trapped.'

'Thor?' A razor edge skimmed her voice. 'Why can't you get us out?'

He felt for Mjolnr in the murk, trying not to sigh in relief when his fingers closed on the handle.

'I can't free myself without crushing you,' Thor confessed, _or frying you with lightning. _Blasting his way out would almost certainly kill a mortal woman, whether by battering masonry or blistering lightning. Thor would never forgive himself-

He felt her stiffen, saw her eyes widen. Something lurked between them in the dark, smelling of fear.

Natasha was still all but unknown to him, despite their battle-bond. She held herself aloof in the moments of blood and sweat and exhaustion, when it was Valhalla just to lean against your shield-brothers and rest. Fathomless and cool as a winter sea, she had stood apart.

But here in the dark, he felt her resolve crumbling and melting against him. His thought sprang to Sif, her eyes blown wide and her fingers running with blood, her stuttering breaths and her damp forehead pressed against his shoulder. Women broke in different ways than men, he guessed, more alike to glaciers melting than volcanoes erupting.

He knew not what demons the assassin beside him had faced down in the crowding dark, but he could hear their footfalls in her breathing.

'Natasha,' he began softly, 'you need follow the light. Make your way out and I will follow.'

She made a formless noise and scrabbled forward, her boots bracing on his arm. Soon she was outlined in a grey daylight glow, hanging between the dark and the outside. Her shoulders hitched at a nervous angle.

'The street's crawling with soldiers,' her voice was dead. 'I need your cover. I'm not bulletproof, Thor.'

_I can't do this. _

The Asgardian paused. Natasha was right. She would be exposed and vulnerable scrabbling free; he needed a way to protect her while he freed himself.

To protect...

He wriggled and scrambled madly until the releases on his shoulder pauldrons chinked and his breastplate fell away. Next he loosened his vambraces, leaving them to slip from his forearms and clatter to the floor. The scales of his hauberk glinted dully in the light as he pulled it over his head with a muffled groan and held it out to Natasha.

'Wear this.'

'What?' Her voice hit a flat note, like metal striking hard-packed earth.

'None of your mortals weapons will breach its craftsmanship. The enchantments my mother laid on it will ward all harm from you.'

'...Thor-'

'The metal is strong but light, tempered by the smiths of Vanaheim. Take it and live.'

He smiled for her, wondering if she could see it in the half-light. Natasha's jaw worked for a few moments, then she stretched out a hand and took the maille shirt, swimming through the steely folds until her head poked out the top and her hands found the sleeves. She looked oddly like a child when she straightened, save for the blood painting her brow and the sweat like diamonds on her skin.

'Wish me luck,' she murmured, a puff of laughter escaping reddened lips.

'By the three Norns, the seven Stars, and all the branches of the World Tree.' It was his turn to laugh, but his merriment foundered in a bitter hiss as his ribs cried out.

She crouched for a moment, skylined between one world and the next, and then she was gone, dancing through the twilight. Thor let out a pained breath, slumping against a slab of concrete. He allowed himself to gasp and grimace in the dark, letting the waves of pain wash over him. But Natasha would be shielded from further harm, and that was well.

Now to free himself. Scrambling about for his vambraces, he checked when his hand came away dark and sticky. He stiffed at it, a pool of lead settling in his innards. Sweat, grime – and the familiar scent of mortal blood, smelling of salt and copper.

_Oh, you brave and wary fool. If only you had trusted me enough to tell me. _He felt about desperately, but the light was gone, and plenty of his own blood had painted the floor. In the end, it seemed she had lost only a small amount of her blood, but then again, what did he know of mortal physiology?

Thor rolled over and clasped Mjolnir's handle, spinning it as fast as he could. This was going to _hurt, _but he had faced worse. Lightning flashed down, splitting the sky. He soared to meet it, crying out in spite of clenched teeth.

As he parted the storm, a tiny voice whispered, _Loosen your jaw, you great oaf. You're going to bite your tongue off. _ It sounded too much like the brother he had left unburied and dishonored on a withered rock for comfort. _Not that your powers of articulation would be any great loss, _it knew already what came next, and after that, and after that. _Ah, brother, but then who would shout loud enough to frighten all your enemies away? _A sad smile inched up his face. _Oh hush, you great, gabbling fool; the Dragon will hear us..._

Thor blew rain water from his nose and shook it roughly from his eyes. No-one would tell him the liquid was anything else.

'Natasha,' he called into streets, 'Natasha!'

As the clouds cleared, he saw that the square was empty save for the Widow and the Archer. She leaned on him and he bent over her, love written in every line of his body. It was well with her then, Thor thought. The weight in his belly eased at last, leaving a hollowness in its wake like the feeling one gets when one has gone so long without food that biting hunger is a thing of the distant past.

_Why did you not tell me? I could have helped you. What have I done but help you?_

He missed Jane.

Thor dropped to a rooftop, still unseen, and cast a sweeping eye over the area. A sort of exhausted hush lay over the city, as if everyone and everything had simply sat down, too tired to move. The battle was over.

Thor knew he must soon return to help with the cleanup and report to the Captain – he should make sure Natasha was alright, as well – but for the moment, he wanted only to slump against the icy concrete and watch the colorless sun go down. Somewhere out beyond that pale sky, his home shone like a bright and golden beacon, halls burning with the light of a thousand torches and a million stars. Here,it was only a distant star.

The longing for his homeland boiled up, sweet and sharp as incense. But Thor had given his word to watch and protect this realm, though eternity pass him by. He had chosen this world, and now it must be his home. There was no way back through the stars, not for him. The thunder god let out a stuttering breath that sounded too much like a sob as he launched himself from the edge.

_**. . .**_

'Captain, the perimeter is secure. Iron Man and I believe all the soldiers of HYDRA are dead or captured by law-enforcement.'

'Thanks, Thor,' Steve greeted him with a soot-smirched smile, 'We'll need to contact Hill about this break-out; there must be a mole on the inside...' His young face fell again, dragged down in worry.

'Captain,' Thor began awkwardly, fumbling for reassurances. He could find none, so he settled for a firm grip on Steve's shoulder and a smile full of all the strength he could muster.

'Thor,' Steve said and stopped, but his eyes filled with renewed courage.

'Is the Widow alright? I learned too late of her injury.'

'Yeah,' Steve sighed, 'Nat's gonna be fine. Bruce is taking a look at her.'

'Thanks,' Thor murmured, turning away.

'And Thor?' Steve caught his at wrist, 'I heard what you did. Thank you for saving her. She might not trust you with her problems, but she trusts you with her life... And it'll get better.' _We'll get better. We have too. The world is depending on us. _

_**. . .**_

'Thor?'

'Aye?'

'I am. Warning. You.'

The Asgardian turned from the punching bag (a most curious invention Steve had introduced him to, that, while presenting no real challenge, helped him work off excess energy). He wiped sweat from his face, mischief bubbling up inside.

'Aye?'

She let out a snarl. 'You asked for it!'

And Thor found himself tackled to the floor by a hundred-fifty-odd pounds of red-headed assassin. He couldn't tell if Natasha was pulling her punches or not, but it seemed she was taking out everything she had on him. For himself, Thor was certainly tempering his strength, but even if he had not been, Natasha's speed and agility would have posed a serious threat. He hoped she wouldn't notice, but what didn't she? Maybe that was the reason she stooped to hair-pulling.

The battle was fierce, raging for several minutes with no clear victor. At last, Asgardian and mortal slumped to the mat, breathing hard.

'Well,' Thor panted, 'at least your threats are do not lie idle.'

Natasha smiled, fierce and sharp, reminding him again of Sif. She took a long drink from a water bottle that had appeared from somewhere and shoved damp hair from her face.

Thor let out a contented sigh, stretching back against the mat. The cold lump in his bell was slowly seeping away. Natasha turned to face him, her face carefully casual.

'Hey – I should have told you I was hurt back there. Steve says that soldiers trust each other- that that makes an army. I know Stark keeps saying we're not soldiers, but he'd be blind to see that we're not fighting a war against HYDRA.'

Thor nodded, trying to find the right thing to say, but she wasn't finished.

Natasha fixed him with an earnest gaze, her cool tone forgotten. 'I – well, sometimes I forget that you, all of you, actually have my back,' she smiled a little, 'I guess I've spent too long with the wrong people.'

Her fingers folded themselves together. She watched them fixedly while the real words hung silently between them._ I'm sorry I can't trust you. I want to to, but I'm afraid. _

Her voice trickled down to a whisper. 'Forgive me?'

In the deathly quiet of the empty floor, Thor laid a hesitant hand on her arm. 'I, too, have tasted the pain of betrayal,' he answered quietly, the words sticking in his throat.

Natasha looked up, hope rimming her eyes.

It was his turn to smile, just a little. 'There is nothing to forgive.'

* * *

><p><em> So. This was supposed to be all about Natasha but it turned into post-Phase II Thor angst fairly quickly. Sorry about that. I can't help myself. Reviews (and reviewers) will be cherished forever.<br>_

_Stay tuned for_ Tony and the Helm.

-RandomCelt


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